Midwife Crisis
by THA-THUMPP
Summary: Chris, heavily pregnant, is left with the Nemesis, which Wesker reprogrammed to "babysit" while he's off doing whatever-he-does-best. NOTE: Crack and mpreg.


**Disclaimer:** We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.)

**Warning:** Crack, Cursing, Male/Male relationship, Mpreg, OOC

_Italics _– Emphasized words/Thoughts/Onomatopoeia(s)/Over the phone conversation

**Bold** – the Nemesis's electronic catch phrase

**A/N:** This is a crackfic and is NOT to be taken seriously. We know Chris has never personally met the Nemesis, but— for humor's sake— let's say he has… Also, excuse the single periods. We cannot, for the life of us, figure out how to add a damn 'extra' space. Cheers.

* * *

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!" Chris outstretched a finger. "Anyone, but him!"

The Nemesis stood before the two men in silence. Memorable lips pulled back, showing a perfect set of teeth. Its grotesque pipes hidden beneath a frilly, pink apron reading, 'Kiss Me.'

"I assure you, Chris." Usual stern features slid into a grin. "He's quite _safe_—"

"Define safe! There's no way I'm staying here with that… thing! In case you've forgotten," Chris grabbed the collar of Wesker's leather coat, ripping him as close as his pregnant belly allowed. "I'M A MEMBER OF S.T.A.R.S.!"

Dark shades slipped with the jolt, revealing amber eyes. "_Ex_-S.T.A.R.S. You're B.S.A.A., remember?" With a squeeze he removed trembling hands.

"Do you really think he can tell the difference?"

"**S.T.A.R.S.**" It came no louder than a whisper.

Goose bumps formed and Chris shivered, then flinched as a sharp twinge shot through his side. He rested a firm hand on his lower back, glancing to Wesker, whose eyes narrowed. "What?"

"You did that this morning too."

"Don't change the subject."

"I wouldn't dare."

_Sarcastic son-of-a-bitch._

They held a staring contest.

Wesker sighed. "If it makes you feel any better," he readjusted his glasses, "I reprogrammed him myself." Gloved hands eased their way to a vase, sitting on the table next to them. "Observe." He turned, aiming at the Nemesis.

"Wha— Wesker! NO!"

_CRASH!_ It struck the head, embedding multiple shards in exposed flesh.

Not even a twitch. Instead, its focus hovered on the glassy mess below, status mentally updating:

.

_NEMESIS ID-UW003_

.

_FUNCTIONALITY_

_99.1%._

_OPERATIONAL_

.

_Target Confirmation_

_Error_

_Search…_

_Search…_

_Target Confirmation_

_Error_

_Search…_

_Search…_

_Search…_

_Search…_

_Target Confirmation_

_Clear_

.

_Scan Mode…_

.

_FUNCTIONALITY_

_100%._

_OPERATIONAL_

.

_WEAPON:_

_Gatling Gun_

_M134_

_Magazine Capacity Infinite_

.

_OBJECTIVE:_

_Protect_

_Redfield, Chris_

.

"**S.T.A.R.S.**" It stalked from the room.

Wesker beamed smugly. "See? Not a problem."

Chris felt faint.

_Clunk. Clunk. Clunk._ The Nemesis returned, Gatling gun in hand. It towered over the scattered debris. Harmless to the human eye, but to him:

.

_WARNING:_

_Potential threat_

.

_OBJECTIVE:_

_Eliminate_

.

Weapon poised, humming to life before discharging consecutive rounds. Only dust remained.

.

_OBJECTIVE:_

_Complete_

.

Talking a step back it relaxed, looking to Wesker, as if for reassurance. "**S.T.A.R.S.**"

A muse. "Good boy."

"I-I need to lie down."

Wesker chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "You do that. I've got," a wave of the hand, "_important business_ to attend to."

Chris groaned. "Yeah right." He groped his midsection tightly as he gingerly sunk into the couch. "What am I supposed to do if— I don't know, something happens?"

"_Is_ something going to happen, _Chris_?"

"N-No, but _if_—"

"Then it's your problem to handle." He pointed with a thumb. "Or the Nemesis. After all, that's what he's for."

"You can't be serious."

"Quite." After a blur, the door closed. "Have _fun~_"

_Bastard._

The Nemesis stayed motionless, breathing heavily. Eye contact permanent. The whole scene intimidating.

"Don't you ever… rest, or something?"

Without warning, the Gatling gun was dropped, cracking the tiles with a loud clang.

_Sure. Let's add a mild heart attack to my list of things to do today. Hah. Not like it can get any worse._

**…**

Pain.

That was the only thing Chris noticed when stirring from a sleep he didn't quite remember entering. His stomach throbbed wildly, more intense than earlier and he pushed himself forward.

Optimism came first.

Stress, accompanied by sleeping in an awkward position, could easily explain why he felt this way. Timidly straightening out his posture, he rose to a stand— but then a second wave hit. Hard. Causing him to crumble.

_Shit…_

Pessimism followed.

The Nemesis slowly looked at him.

Chris closed one eye tightly. Shaky vision traveled up booted feet, to that oh-so-lovely face. "… L-Little help?"

No response.

_Goddammit, Wesker._ Could he have been anymore vague on how to use this brute? It's not like it came with a user's manual. He cringed at another surge of agony, before noticing his cell phone on a table—

in the next room.

_Great… _There was no way he could muster the strength to walk, let alone crawl.

Chris wasn't exactly famous for formulating good ideas, but his next one seemed foolproof.

"Hey."

A low growl.

"B-Bring me my cell."

His gaze was followed, but there was no attempt to comply.

_OK. How about 'trigger' words?_ "F-Fetch?"

The eye battered slightly.

Discomfort rose as patience diminished.

"Assist?"

Nope.

"D-Danger?"

Nothing.

"_Glass?_"

"**S.T.A.R.S.**"

Well… it was a start.

**…**

_Bang!_

This sound echoed throughout facility halls.

A crimson head fell, hitting the ground simultaneously as a soft melody hummed from inside black pockets.

Wesker clicked his tongue, withdrawing his phone as he wedged it between his ear and shoulder, long enough to reload. "What."

A suppressed moan could be heard through static.

"Hello?" He perked. Chin down, as another zombie rushed him from behind.

_Bang— pssh! _Headless.

**…**

_Search…_

_Search…_

_Target Confirmation_

_Clear_

.

_Voice recognition:_

_Wesker, Albert_

.

The Nemesis hissed, examining the device between pinched fingers.

Chris smashed his fist into the side of the sofa. "Oh, come on! Don't just stand there— do something! Say something! _Anything!_"

The head tilted.

.

_OBJECTIVE:_

_Communicate_

**…**

"Chris." Wesker studied his watch. "It's only been three hours. What _ever_ could you need—"

_"Gaah!"_

_"__**S.T.A.R.S.**__"_

Lips folded into a frown. "The Nemesis?"

_"__**S.T.A.R.S.**__"_

_Hm. Should have installed speech software... No matter. _He presented his back to the corpses, slicking his hair with a free hand. The situation was… somewhat apparent. "Right. How bad is it?" A pause. "_Tone_ wise."

Silence.

"Well—"

_"__**S.T.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.R.R.R.R.S.S.S.S.S.S.!**__"_

The electronic rattle echoed loudly in Wesker's ear, causing him to pull away. " …I see." A sinister smile. "Let him know I'm on my way."

**…**

The Nemesis crushed the cell phone, tossing it aside before glimpsing back to Chris, who was still groveling in pain.

"What… did he… say?"

A beady eye glistened. "**S.T.A.R.S.**"

He couldn't tell him.

* * *

**Extra Note(s):**

Drew a picture for this story. View it on our deviantART page. Search for "hplusha, deviantart" on Google...


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